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A recruit would place an order at any one of i
Alcohol, cigarettes, candy, pornography, but, strangely, no drugs. In the twelfth week the training for Alpha company included a two-week field exercise. By the second week there were no full bottles found in the company or the battalion. Obviously the bootleggers were centered in Alpha company.
The agents of CID descended in force on Alpha company but Gu
Beds were hurled out the windows to be followed by wall lockers, equipment lockers, clothes, equipment and anything else moveable they could find. As each item was ejected it was subjected to a brief but intense inspection. Nearly stumped, they finally found what they were looking for hidden in a hollow in the cinder block wall itself, concealed behind the wall locker of none other than the second squad leader.
It was a leadership challenge for the veteran NCOs. On the one hand, the violations of regulations were i
They had a few moments to discuss it. The drill corporals were ru
Two days later there was an unscheduled field exercise. At two A.M. the recruits were hounded out of their beds, into field gear and out into the darkness.
The platoon was broken down into squads and put through hours of murderous squad drills. This is the sprint and dash technique of the infantry, dropping to the prone to take the enemy under fire as another squad moves then leaping to their feet and ru
The squads were supervised by the drill corporals as Gu
Towards dawn the squads were well scattered and, per instructions, the drill corporals gathered each of them in and in a complete violation of doctrine built a fire. Fire was anathema to the modern infantry, revealing of your position, potentially dangerous in the form of a forest fire and, yes, environmentally harmful. But Pappas knew the infantry man is in many ways atavistic. He revels in the dirt and the mud even as he curses it and fire strikes a special cord in the human breast. Fire opens up the soul in a way that few things can, to those who are open to it, and there are times when nothing but a fire will do.
As second squad settled back against its packs relaxing in the warmth and light Pappas stepped silently out of the darkness and gestured for the drill corporal to leave.
The squad sat up and shot covert glances at Stewart. He in turn fixed Sergeant Pappas with a basilisk stare; one of his many attributes was that he had a stare to give a bull pause. He had learned the first week not to direct it at Pappas but now it seemed time to do so.
Pappas reached into his thigh bellows pockets and drew out twelve wads of bills. "I suspect you might be looking for these," he said and tossed one to each of the recruits.
"Sir," started one of the recruits, "this isn't what it looks like!"
"Shut up," said Stewart in a voice he would use to order French fries. The recruit shut up.
"I want to tell you a secret, soldiers," said Pappas in a quiet, neutral voice. It was the first time he had used that appellation for them and they were universally startled. Technically they should not be referred to as soldiers until they completed their final tests. It was a goal they had all been striving for, whether they had realized it or not, a mark of approval more important than life in many ways.
"It's one of the big secrets," Pappas continued. "You know, the Sergeant Secrets. It's one of the secrets you really believe exists even when you deny it. Recruits always believe that the sergeants have special secrets you never learn until you're a sergeant. Like we get told the secrets on our last day at `Sergeant's School.' " He smiled at the weak joke and puffed out his cheeks.
"Well, you don't. You learn it just by being in a unit, by being in the military, whether it's in the Army, Marines, Line or Strike or whatever. You learn it usually in your first few months. But it isn't the big secret. It's a little secret.
"Here it is in three words," he continued, seriously. " `Contraband is everywhere.' There's always drugs, or personal firearms, or military demolitions somewhere in any barracks. And there's always a black market in the stuff. You guys weren't the first or the second or the two hundred and fifty-ninth. Contraband in barracks is as old as armies.
"And the stuff that we are going to be issued is a black marketer's dream. Everybody in the fuckin' country wants the Galactic weapons, the combat drugs, the Hiberzine. Hell, even the littlest GalTech shit, pens, Eterna batteries, everything, is worth big bucks. So, where we're going is the jackpot; you can get a piddly little twelve grand for one hit of regen. And that leads to another thing." He picked up a stick and stirred the dying fire, puffing his cheeks in and out in silence for a moment.
"There's a bigger secret," he said in a near whisper. "One little sentence. `As long as it does not affect the unit's effectiveness, no big deal.' "
He smiled again and looked up at the circle of recruits. As he did his eyes turned frosty and his grin turned to a snarl. "But none of you cocksuckers were a gleam in your daddy's eye when I was in the fuckin' Marines. Back then the fuckin' officers in the Army had to have armed guards to go into the fuckin' barracks because the fuckin' drug problem was so bad, and it wasn't much better in the fuckin' Corp.